


If I have to crawl upon the floor, come crashing through your door

by frostysunflowers



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Kidnapping, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Team Family, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, there's fluff too do not fear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22206118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/pseuds/frostysunflowers
Summary: ''Kid, you trust me, right?''Peter’s stomach lurches at the question. ''Y-yeah, totally.''''Then trust me when I say it’s nothing you need to worry about, okay?''
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 100
Kudos: 756
Collections: Irondad Fic Exchange 2019





	If I have to crawl upon the floor, come crashing through your door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [killerqueenwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/gifts).



> So when I found out I was going to be writing a fic for akillerqueenwrites, one of my favourite writers in the fandom, for the Irondad fic exchange, I was both happy and quite nervous - she requested a prompt of both Tony and Peter being arrested by Ross and what started as a relatively short idea in my head blew up into, well, this haha. 
> 
> Ciara, I hope you enjoy this, please accept it as a love letter from me to you and all your amazing fics and kindness <3

When Secretary Ross first comes for Tony, it’s in the aftermath of a rather chaotic battle somewhere on the outskirts of Norway; a battle involving way too much snow, an oversized squid creature and probably enough structural damage to keep Pepper and the best of the Stark Industries lawyers busy for the next few weeks.

Battered and bruised but no worse for wear, the team is in the middle of their typical post-battle teasing of one another over copious amounts of takeout when FRIDAY announces that there is a visitor requesting permission to enter the building. 

''Who is it, FRI?''

_''It is Secretary Ross, accompanied by two agents.''_

''What the hell does he want?'' Clint barks around a mouthful of noodles. 

Peter, sitting beside Tony at the end of the table, feels an unpleasant tickle trail up his spine and buzz across his scalp. 

_''He refuses to disclose the nature of his visit beyond saying that it is to discuss important matters with you, Boss.''_

The hairs on Peter’s arms stand upright and goosebumps break out across his neck, making him shudder. Tony glances at him, one eyebrow raised questioningly, and whatever he sees on Peter’s face clearly doesn’t please him. 

''Tell him there’s nobody home,'' he says after a moment. 

There’s a soft cheer around the table accompanied by the raising of glasses. Steve shakes his head but there’s no hiding the smile on his lips. 

_''He’s rather insistent, Boss. He says that it is to do with the Accords.''_

''Nope,'' Tony waves his hand like he’s swatting away a fly, ''not important right now. This, however,'' he leans over and plucks the last wanton out from between Steve’s chopsticks and tosses it into his open mouth, ''definitely is.''

''Hey!''

Tony grins at him before resuming chewing. ''Snooze you lose, Cap.''

‘’I thought all that stuff with the Accords was okay?’’ Peter asks quietly as he puts down his chopsticks, no longer feeling hungry. 

''It is,'' Tony assures firmly. ''Ross is panicking because since our request for a review and overhaul finally went through, the respective leaders of the world have been all over his ass wanting to know why the whole situation was such a colossal screw up in the first place.’’

''Understatement,'' Clint snorts, making Thor chuckle. 

''I heard that his position is on the line,'' Bruce adds, lips twitching with a badly concealed smile. 

''Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he got fired,'' Nat says wryly, taking a sip of beer. 

Peter fiddles with the single spring roll still on his plate. ''Will they make me sign?''

''Nobody is making you do anything,'' Steve assures, sharing a quick look with Tony that Peter can’t quite identify. ''Tony and I made it clear enough that nobody will be signing a thing until they’re amended.''

''Signing again in my case,'' Tony sighs.

''You did what you thought was best, friend,'' Thor says kindly. 

Steve nods, looking equally regretful. ''Let’s just be glad it didn’t end up as bad as it could have.''

''Speak for yourself,'' Clint grumbles, glaring at Nat. 

''I didn’t hit you that hard,'' she retorts and lobs a prawn cracker at him. 

The table immediately descends into rowdy, warm spirited chaos. Bits of food fly about, along with mocking jabs and playful outrage. Peter lets it all go over his head whilst he stares at his lap, his earlier trepidation wavering but clinging on even as he tries to will himself to relax. 

Though the team had managed to rally together at the last moment, but not before a few punches had been thrown, the situation with the Accords hadn’t been immediately resolved. The return of Bruce and Thor had coincided with the arrangement for Bucky Barnes to relocate to Wakanda for support in his recovery, creating even more tension between the Avengers and the United Nations who were still suspicious and seeking reassurance in any way that they could get it. After returning home, Peter spent two weeks hearing no word from Tony and living in fear that the US government were going to turn up on his doorstep and whisk him away. 

That was months ago. Since then, not only had Tony, with the help of Steve and Rhodey, managed to convince the UN to throw out all current legislation relating to the management of enhanced individuals and demand a fairer resolution, Peter had forged a connection with his childhood hero that had supremely surpassed all of his wildest dreams. 

What had started as mere mentoring here and there was now something warm and supportive, fun and safe; something that Peter treasured and felt immensely grateful for. 

Maybe that’s why he suddenly feels guilty. Though it’s something Peter will argue against, he knows that Tony considers himself responsible for his well-being, for doing all that can be done to keep Peter’s identity safe, including keeping him as far away from the whole Accords situation as possible, airport showdown notwithstanding. 

The worry bubbling in his gut is verging on painful. Despite the words of reassurance offered earlier, Peter can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right, that something bad is going to happen. 

A familiar arm circles his shoulders and gives him a squeeze. 

''Nothing to worry about, Underoos.''

Peter gives Tony a smile and relaxes into his side, hoping like hell that he’s right. 

* * *

The second time Ross comes for Tony, it’s on a Saturday afternoon when Tony and Peter are sitting in Central Park, taking advantage of the warm sunshine and eating ice cream. 

Peter, trying to navigate the drips of chocolate and strawberry sliding down the extra large cone clutched in his hand, looks over curiously when Tony’s phone rings. 

Tony holds his own cone, much smaller with a modest scoop of coconut resting on top, away from himself as he fiddles around for his phone. 

''Maybe it’s the dessert police,'' Peter teases, ''calling to judge you for your terrible choices.''

''You want me to call the drone back? Come take all this away?'' Tony grumbles, nodding his head towards the ice box by their feet. ''That’s the best gelato money can buy, kiddo.’’

''Yeah, and _you_ chose the coconut flavour.''

The phone stops ringing just as Tony tugs it free from his pocket. He sighs and glares over his sunglasses at Peter who beams innocently back at him, feeling warm and happy in the moment. 

''I have gelato flown in from Italy and delivered via drone to sate your frozen treat craving needs, and this is how you repay me.''

''Actually,'' Peter takes another lick, ''the drone only flew it over from the tower today, so it's not that impressive.''

Tony’s undoubtedly outraged response is cut off by his phone ringing again. 

''Yeah,'' he grunts into the speaker as he balances it between his ear and shoulder. He has another mouthful from his cone before he chuckles humorlessly. ''Is he now. Well, you know what to tell him,'' he says, then promptly hangs up. 

''Was that Secretary Ross again?'' Peter asks, all previous traces of fun gone from his voice. ''Did, uh...is everything okay?''

Tony doesn’t answer right away. He takes a few thoughtful licks of gelato and then sighs, removing his sunglasses and looking at Peter. 

''Kid, you trust me, right?''

Peter’s stomach lurches at the question. ''Y-yeah, totally.''

''Then trust me when I say it’s nothing you need to worry about, okay?''

''I’m not worried,'' Peter says quickly, feeling his cheeks flush as Tony cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at him. ''I’m not!''

''Uh huh,'' Tony hums. ''Your gelato's melting,'' he adds, jerking his head at Peter’s cone, laughing as Peter lets out a squawk and lifts the cone to catch the drips. 

* * *

The third time Ross comes for Tony, it’s the middle of a Friday night.

In a break from their usual routine of working in the lab and ordering in pizza, mainly owing to the amount of homework that’s been neglected lately, Peter and Tony spent the evening at the Parker apartment, munching their way through an impressively large order of Chinese food. Tony assists where needed, grabbing glimpses of equations and calculations over Peter’s shoulder, but otherwise keeps his attention on the television or his phone, chuckling here and there at snatches of dialogue. 

May had kept them company, picking at the collection of steaming containers until the time came for her to disappear off for her evening shift, once again dismissing Tony’s offer to come work for Stark Industries with a playful scowl. 

It’s a nice change of pace. Peter makes a sizeable dent in his homework, Tony catches up on the stacks of emails cluttering up his inbox, they actually manage to eat a substantial meal and the subsequent food coma that follows leaves them both feeling pleasantly relaxed. 

''Aww,'' Tony teases lazily as he spots a framed picture over on the bookcase, ''look at you.''

Peter glances over at the picture, one of him as a gap-toothed eight year old dressed almost head to toe in Iron Man merchandise, and snorts. ''Mister Stark, you’ve seen that picture before.''

''And it warms my heart every time,'' Tony places his hand dramatically on his chest. ''Who knew that one day I would meet my number one fan?''

''Not your number one fan,'' Peter grumbles. ''Pretty sure I still have all my Iron Man stuff though.''

''Pretty sure, he says,'' Tony snorts. ''If there’s not a chest full of things with my face on it somewhere in this apartment, I’m leaving right now and disowning you.''

''You can’t disown me,'' Peter says, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. ''You like me too much.''

''That’s what you think,'' Tony threatens as he nabs the remaining fortune cookie, holding it aloft when Peter makes a halfhearted grab for it. 

Their bickering continues and eventually results in Peter clambering up into the attic, leaving Tony shaking his head fondly from below the open hatch. 

''Look, kid,'' Tony calls up, ''you don’t need to show me the damn thing. The description was vivid enough.''

Up in the gloomy cove of old family heirlooms and storage containers, Peter knocks a couple of boxes to the side and wiggles his fingers in triumph as he spots the large, dinosaur decorated toy chest. ''No way, Mister Stark. This is like, an antique, you have to _see_ it to believe it - ''

''I resent you calling any of my merchandise an antique, you little shit.''

Lifting the lid instantly reveals what he’s looking for and Peter grabs it with a triumphant cheer, wasting no time in scampering back towards the hatch. He grins down at Tony and holds out the replica Iron Man helmet. 

''See?''

''Yes, very impressive,'' Tony rolls his eyes with a smirk. 

''Catch!''

Peter drops the helmet, along with a sprinkling of dust from his curls which showers into Tony’s face and makes him sneeze, allowing for the helmet to hit the floor with an impressively loud _thunk_. 

''Oh, man,'' Peter practically tumbles out of the hatch and grabs the helmet, turning it this way and that to check for dents while Tony tries to rub the grit from his eyes. ''You were supposed to catch it!''

Tony gives him a shove in response just as there’s a sharp knock at the door. 

''That’s totally gonna be Mrs Townsend from down the hall coming to complain that we’ve disturbed her cats,'' Peter groans, depositing the helmet into Tony’s arms and heading to the door. 

As his hand reaches for the handle, a sense of foreboding rushes over him and settles unpleasantly in his stomach, making him pause. 

Something’s not right. 

''C’mon, Underoos,'' Tony says, striding past with the helmet resting lopsidedly atop his hair, ''don’t you know it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?''

There’s no time to warn Tony as he opens the door, revealing someone who is most definitely not Mrs Townsend standing on the other side. 

''Afternoon, Tony,'' Secretary Ross says pleasantly. ''Got a minute?''

A heavy tension immediately crackles to life in the air. The change in Tony is subtle, a mere tensing of the shoulders and straightening of the spine, but Peter sees the wary trepidation in his face, banishing the lightness of his previous smile and replacing it with a much colder one as he regards Ross and the two men accompanying him carefully. 

''Caught me at a bad time, I’m afraid,'' Tony says, removing the helmet and setting it down carefully on the table by the door. ''As you can see, I’m in the middle of a brainstorming session with my intern.''

''Ah, yes, your intern,'' Ross’s gaze sweeps the room, taking in the empty food containers and the Brooklyn 99 episode playing quietly in the background, before locking onto Peter. ''I’ve heard impressive things. Quite remarkable things actually, considering that he’s still in high school.''

Ross steps into the apartment and to Peter’s surprise, Tony lets him. He looks up into Tony’s face but Tony keeps his attention firmly fixed on Ross and angles himself so that Peter is almost practically obscured from view. The front door slams shut as the two men also come inside, flanking Ross from a distance on both sides. 

''You’re an incredibly hard man to get hold of,'' Ross says as he wanders the room, peering with mild curiosity at the various ornaments and pictures that decorate the place. His hand brushes the fronds of a wilted plant by the window and Peter feels a sudden burst of anger. He tries to move past Tony, mouth opening to say something but Tony’s hand clamping down on his shoulder, firmer than usual, halts him. 

''You know how it is,'' Tony says breezily, ''all work and no play. You’ve got me now,'' he gestures to himself with his free hand, ''so why don’t we go discuss whatever it is that - ''

''I’m past the point of wanting to discuss things, Tony,'' Ross interrupts, folding his arms behind his back casually as he paces back across the floor. ''That’s not why I’m here.''

''Oh?''

''I’m here to arrest you.''

The hand on Peter’s shoulder twitches and the worry that’s been quietly simmering in his gut since that very first phone call turns into a roiling boil, churning anticipation through him for whatever is about to happen next. 

''Last time I checked,'' Tony says, manoeuvring himself away from Peter and moving slowly towards Ross, all eyes in the room following him. ''I haven’t broken any laws.''

''Oh, I firmly disagree,'' Ross smiles, shark-like and superior. ''But perhaps I should rephrase - I’m here to arrest you, if you don’t come along with me willingly.''

''And where it is you want to take me exactly? Fancy dinner? A show, maybe? I hear Hamilton is a must see.''

Peter’s attention narrows onto Tony’s watch and the way a small green light flashes once on the side as Tony rubs a hand surreptitiously over his wrist, nothing but a scratching of an itch to the more unobservant eye. 

''I like to think of myself as a fair man,'' Ross says, ''and I’m sure by now you know all about the turbulent ground I’m standing on right now in terms of my position within the US government.''

''Really?'' Tony gushes, poking at his watch once again. ''Well, circle of life, I suppose. You win some, you lose some.''

''I want you to publicly apologise for your involvement in having the Accords thrown out and pledge your support to ensuring that all enhanced individuals are subject to the appropriate control measures.''

There’s a long pause in which everyone remains quiet. Peter knows that the message sent through Tony’s watch, generated by nothing but a few careful taps of Tony’s fingers, will be relayed by FRIDAY to whoever is available to come and lend their assistance, but something tells him that time is nowhere near on their side today. 

''You know that’s a tune I won’t sing to,'' Tony eventually says with a sniff. _''_ _Sir,''_ he adds cuttingly. 

''Then you’ve left me with no other option.''

The rational part of Peter’s brain knows that Tony is in far more control of the situation than he’s letting on. Tony’s cloak of indifferent nonchalance is familiar to him, the narrowed gaze and almost condescending smirk a distinctly recognisable weapon that Peter has seen many a time before now. 

And yet somehow, during that split second in which the hand of one of the men accompanying Ross reaches out to take Tony’s arm, Peter forgets every rational thought that he has; forgets that Tony is actually _Tony Stark,_ the man behind the power of Iron Man and the smartest person in any room anywhere, and loses himself to the rapid gunfire-strike of emotion and panic that rushes up inside him. 

He feels the skip of his heart in his chest, a hot fierceness swirling through his blood, the shutter-snap of his senses as they plunge into blind overdrive, leaving him powerless to the overwhelming urge to _protect protect protect._

So he moves forward, far too quickly, and fastens his fingers around the man’s wrist, holding on with a grip that is much too tight, creaking bones together and eliciting a surprised gasp of pain that may as well be a scream within the heavy silence of the apartment. 

Tony’s eyes meet Peter’s, wide and dark, the features of his face rapidly twisting into something raw and terrified. Ross makes a sound of triumph, a mockery of a joyful laugh, and the grin he levels at Peter is nothing short of predatory. 

''Ah,'' he says, ''Spider-Man. We meet at last.''

For as fast as Peter had moved, there’s no comparing it to the speed of Tony. The man clutching his wrist and groaning is shouldered to the side as Tony plants himself in front of Peter, walking backwards so rapidly that he steps on Peter’s toes. A hand comes up defensively as the other man draws a gun. 

''Look,'' Tony says to Ross, ''you came for me, you’ve got me, alright? No need for this to get out of hand.''

''It got out of hand a long time ago, Stark,'' Ross says, ''and you and your merry band of vigilantes have only yourselves to blame for the consequences.''

Peter twists his fingers into the back of Tony’s shirt, the blue button-down that May had given him for Christmas last year, feeling the sweat clinging to the skin beneath it. 

This is uncertain ground, tremulous and terrifying, because never has Peter had to consider not fighting back since gaining his powers, and he knows with absolute certainty that he’s never has seen Tony look anything close to _scared._

There’s a loud throbbing in Peter’s ears and somehow his heart has lodged itself into his throat, turning his breathing sharp and shallow, but he still manages to glare warningly at the man with the injured wrist as he approaches slowly, a gun now clasped in his other hand and trained on Peter’s face. 

Tony eyes the man as well and furiously snaps, ''Goddamnit, Ross,'' while pushing Peter back again until his heels knock into the wall. ''Use your head here. You take me, that’s fine, that's between you and me. Peter’s a kid, alright? A _child - ''_

''Then he shouldn’t be running around trying to play with the big boys,'' Ross shrugs. ''And you shouldn’t have helped him.''

The gauntlet sheathes Tony’s outstretched hand in a flash of red, the singing whine of the repulsor accompanying the glow of light shining from the palm. Peter wants to stand beside him, wants to fight back, but Tony’s other arm curling backwards protectively keeps him where he is. 

''Really?'' Ross laughs harshly. ''You think these two aren’t more than willing to shoot young Peter if you so much as fire that thing anywhere near me?''

On cue, the muzzle of a gun presses firmly against Peter’s temple. Tony’s head pivots at the sound of the safety clicking and he slowly lowers his arm, gauntlet retracting back into the watch. Peter squeezes the handful of Tony’s shirt tightly, hoping desperately Tony can feel everything he can’t say through the movement. 

Ross grins with satisfaction. ''So,'' he waves a hand towards the door, ''shall we?''

* * *

Tony doesn’t remember being knocked out, but there’s a piercing pain in the front of his skull and a deep ache in his ribs that tells him that it happened, and that it had been a rather vicious affair. 

Sitting up slowly, he palms his forehead with a groan, fingertips brushing a knot of swollen skin, and then hunches forward as a shudder of nausea rolls through him, flooding his mouth with a bitter taste. 

He’s barely opened his eyes wide enough to take a look around when he hears something. 

Crying. 

_Peter_ crying. 

Not loud sobs or wrenching wails, but jumpy whimpers that tell of just how hard he’s trying to keep it together. They suddenly pitch into a scream and Tony scrambles to his feet, stumbling forward urgently until his palms slam up against glass, preventing him from going any further. 

''Peter!'' he calls, peering out from the cell - _he’s in a goddamn cell_ \- and into the cold, gunmetal grey space that lies on the other side. ''Pete!''

He knows this place, recognises the soulless shape and feel from the collection of pictures Ross had once waved at him, the threat towards Steve and the others clear in every wobble of every polaroid. 

The Raft. 

_They’re on the Raft._

Tony paces along the stretch of glass, head craning back and hands frantically slapping in search of something, _anything,_ that will get him out of here. The lights are all on in the line of cells opposite him, but nobody else seems to be in any of them.

He realises then that the sound of Peter crying isn’t coming from anywhere nearby. 

His eyes land on a speaker, tucked up in the right corner of the cell, and he flinches when another cry, this one quieter and longer, crackles through, piercing Tony right down the middle. 

''HEY!'' he shouts, kicking the glass, the motion making his ribs throb. ''Paging Secretary Asshole! I know you can hear me, you - ''

A door swings open on the far left side of the room and Ross steps through. 

''Finally awake, I see.''

Feral fury bubbles up instantly inside Tony and he smacks a fist against the glass.

''Where is he?''

Ross approaches the cell, eyeing Tony with far too much satisfaction. His moustache twitches in amusement and Tony has never wanted to so desperately hurt someone in all his life.

Not a smug-faced Obie or not a misguided Rogers; not even a vengeful Killian as he raged fire and mayhem and nearly stole one of the most precious things in Tony's life. 

Ross in his suit of self-importance and quiet glee sparks a fury that Tony has never felt before, something so intense and powerful it makes his entire body shake with the need to draw blood. 

''Quite the fighter, young mister Parker,'' Ross says, lifting a hand to expect his nails, revealing the streak of bright redness across his knuckles. ''Took a great deal of my men to subdue him, and even then we had to administer a very potent mixture of narcotics.'' He smirks at Tony. ''Not enough to stop the pain, but God knows you can’t have everything.''

Another scream. 

''Where.Is.He,'' Tony snarls. 

''Didn’t take long to break him though,'' Ross carries on. ''That super strength of his really is something to behold. And that healing factor…'' he whistles. 

''God - '' Tony beats the glass again. ''What do you think this is going to achieve, huh? Torturing a kid - _an innocent child -_ and keeping me here is hardly going to win you the love of the American people.''

''He’s been calling for you, you know.''

Something cold crystallises around Tony’s heart and squeezes. 

Peter’s voice warbles through the speaker again, thin and fractured, sounding like nothing more than a terrified kid. _''_ _Ben...B-Ben…''_

''And then I guess he gave up on his hero coming to save him.''

''I’m gonna kill you,'' Tony promises, pressing his face right up against the glass. ''You hear me? I’m gonna make you pay.''

Ross just smiles but Tony sees it, right there, in the pale blue of Ross’ eyes. 

Fear.

''Take a load off, Stark,'' Ross finally says, turning to leave. ''You’re going to be here for a while.''

Tony watches him go, chest heaving with every breath that seems to twist his lungs tighter and tighter, syncing up every pain-stretched cry and moan that comes from the speaker - _comes from Peter -_ and buries his head in his hands. 

He needs a plan. Waiting on the others is going to do him no good, but as far as options go, Tony’s fresh out, because right here and now, he’s not Iron Man, he’s not an Avenger, he’s not even Tony Stark - he’s just a man; a man more than willing to rip Ross apart with his bare hands if it means he can get to Peter, but a man nonetheless. 

Peter’s cries fill the cell, a broken pattern of hitching breaths. He sounds tired, exhausted, scared, and it’s all Tony can do to swear to himself that he will fix this, he will get Peter out of here no matter what it takes. 

There’s no telling how much time passes, but it feels like a long stretch. Despite the lingering effects of the blow to his head, Tony doesn’t sleep or even close his eyes for longer than a few seconds, dark thoughts and throbbing ribs and the sounds of Peter’s harrowing cries keeping him more than wide awake. He clings onto the thought of the look in Ross' eyes, the one that spoke clearly of a man on the edge, a man without a true exit plan, and Tony vows to see that fear realised. 

Things eventually go quiet, a sound so much more terrifying than the sound of Peter screaming.

_Because screaming means that he's alive._

He’s on his feet instantly when the door opens again. 

It’s Ross. 

And Peter.

Covered in blood, barely standing, stumbling along as Ross drags him in Tony’s direction. 

Tony hurries to the glass, every inch of him crying out desperately for contact, wanting to grab Peter and pry him away from Ross’ hateful grasp.

''Kid,'' he calls as they draw closer, ''hey, kid, you alright?''

Peter’s head lolls to the side, chin bumping against the slope of his shoulder, jerking it back up again and allowing his blackened eyes to land on Tony. His pupils are blown wide, his gaze glassy and vacant, but they sharpen a fraction when he looks at Tony’s face. 

''Mis’er S’ark,'' he slurs, lifting a trembling hand, confusion crossing his bruised and bloody face when his swollen fingers knock searchingly against the glass, like he can’t tell that it’s there. 

''I’m here, bud,'' Tony reassures, despising the way Ross watches them but unable to stop himself from resting his hand right where Peter’s fingers are. ''Right here.''

Peter’s nails are ragged and torn, flecks of red decorating the tips, and Tony’s gaze sweeps over Peter once more to catalogue more injuries, more traces of already healing wounds, more evidence of deliberate brutality and cruelty, and every single one fuels the furnace of near maddening hatred that rages inside what feels like the very fibres of Tony’s soul. 

''Amazing,'' Ross murmurs, sounding truly fascinated. ''So Iron Man really does have a heart.''

Tony ignores him, ignores the way Ross’ grip bunches the ruined sleeve of Peter’s hoodie, and keeps his attention solely on Peter’s face. The kid blinks up at him, seemingly coming back into himself more, and offers a weak smile, one that Tony returns as best as he can. 

''It’s gonna be okay, kid.''

''How sweet,'' Ross chuckles darkly. ''You know, it isn’t necessary for you to lie to the boy, Stark. All you and Peter have to do is exactly what I ask, and I’ll let you go.''

And just like that, it’s so many years ago, and Tony is standing in the middle of a hive of dusty chaos with a car battery hooked up to his chest and boxes of his weapons covering the ground, Yinsen translating every word as Tony shakes hands with the man promising his freedom in exchange for what he can do. 

_(''He says for you to start working immediately, and when you are done, he will set you free.''_

_''...No, he won’t.''_

_''No, he won’t.'')_

But this isn’t Afghanistan. Yinsen isn’t here to help him this time and it’s his hands that Peter’s freedom, that Peter’s _life,_ rests in. 

''And if I say no?''

''You’d be a fool to do so.''

''All a little boring and predictable, isn’t it?'' Tony baits. ''Hardly groundbreaking stuff.''

''Stark - ''

''Expecting me to denounce the team, as that’s what publicly support you will no doubt involve, destroying my reputation and doing your bidding so that you can get what you want,'' Tony interrupts, channelling as much apathy as he’s able into his voice. ''All very small time. You won’t be making the bad guy hall of fame any time soon.''

''Will you think me so predictable and boring when I reveal Peter’s identity to the world?''

Peter moans in soft defiance at the threat and the smug triumph of Ross’ words makes Tony want to throw up. 

''Or I could just kill him,'' Ross shrugs. ''I haven’t quite decided yet. What’s life without a bit of mystery?''

And then Peter is being yanked away, leaving Tony unable to do anything but watch helplessly as Ross propels the barely conscious kid across the room and into the cell directly opposite his own. 

Ross gives Peter a firm shove and he disappears momentarily from view as he topples to the floor with a groan. Ross scoffs as he steps back outside, watching the cell seal up before looking back over at Tony. 

''You and the likes of Parker, the likes of _Banner_ and the rest of your little entourage,'' Ross spits vehemently, ''need to realise that you are the problem, the reason why the world is such a mess, and you will be held accountable for your actions. Every single one of you.''

''Me lying about what a monumental fuck up you are won’t change a damn thing,'' Tony says coldly. ''You’re washed up, Ross, and the Accords will be the pathetic legacy that follows you when the powers that be finally kick your sorry ass to the curb. Which they will, by the way, once they find out what you’ve done here.''

''And who will be telling them about this?'' Ross asks. ''You? I highly doubt that would be in young Peter’s best interests.''

Ross glances into Peter’s cell, feigning a look of concern that rapidly twists into something quietly spiteful and twists Tony’s stomach into knots. 

''I’ll be providing a little more incentive for you shortly. I suggest you use that time to think wisely.''

Tony doesn’t spare Ross a glance as he leaves the room. He keeps his eyes on Peter’s cell, shoulders slumping wearily with a laughable sense of something like relief when Peter’s mess of curls appear, slowly followed by the rest of him. 

''Underoos?''

Peter groans as he shifts to lean on the glass, smearing blood upon it from a wound somewhere on his head. ''M’fine, doesn’t hurt - _ah_ \- that bad.'' He takes a few steadying breaths that wheeze far too loudly for Tony's liking. ''Y’okay?'' he asks softly. 

_Oh, kid._

''Yeah,'' Tony croaks, rubbing the corners of his eyes as they sting with tears, ''yeah, I’m fine, kiddo.''

He opens his eyes to see Peter looking at him. ''M’sorry I couldn’t get us out.''

''Hey, no. None of this is your fault, kid, not a damn bit of it.''

''Should’a been stronger - ''

''You _are_ strong, kid,'' Tony insists, desperately hating the fact that Ross can no doubt hear every word of this, ''you’re the strongest and best of us all.''

''Nu uh. You are.''

''Don’t make me come over there.''

Peter laughs weakly, tears filling his own eyes. ''Wish you could.''

''Me too, buddy,'' Tony whispers, arms aching fiercely with the urge to give Peter a hug. ''Me too.''

''What do we do now?''

Tony doesn’t get a chance to answer as Ross reappears, a huddle of four men dressed in protective clothing and wielding an assortment of weapons following him closely. 

''Hey, hey!'' Tony calls, thumping the glass, ''why don’t you come and have a round or two with me, huh? Guarantee I can take all of you with one hand tied behind my back. Especially you, baldy,'' he goads, nodding to the man with an unfortunate bare area of scalp on the back of his head who simply glares at him in return. ''Come on!''

It’s no use, as he knew it wouldn’t be, but that doesn’t stop Tony from continuing to shout insults and taunting jeers as they make their way towards Peter’s cell. As the door opens up and the four men pile in, Peter valiantly launches himself to his shaky feet and starts to scramble up the cell wall, disappearing along with the men as the glass tints into darkness. 

''Hey!'' Tony shouts at Ross. ''What the hell is - ''

''I’m not a cruel man, Tony,'' Ross says. ''I assumed you wouldn’t want to watch.''

''Watch what? Goddamnit, Ross, you asshole, watch wh - ''

Heavy thudding followed by startled groaning and then the undeniable sound of Peter yelling answers his question. 

''Stop,'' Tony begs. ''Just stop. You only need me and you fucking know it, so let him go!''

A particularly loud cry rings out and it’s too much.

_''Please!''_

''This is all of your own doing, Stark,'' Ross snaps over the noises of the hidden struggle, eyes flashing dangerously. ''You should have known better than to go against me.''

''I promise you,'' Tony snarls, ''I promise you that even if I wind up dead in here, the team will make you pay. They’re coming, trust me, and every single one of them will see to it that you never get away with this.''

''The team?'' Ross snorts as he comes to stand directly in front of Tony. ''The team that was so ready to rip each other apart in the not so distant past? Your team is a mockery, a disgrace, and you know it.''

Tony doesn’t reply, because he hears it then. 

So indiscernible, hardly even there at all. 

Buzzing. 

Buzzing coming through the speaker in short, sharp fuzzy bursts. 

Interference. 

Relief, golden and blazing, rises up inside Tony like a newly awakened phoenix. 

_They’re here._

''Tell me, Stark,'' Ross sneers, ''how does it feel to live in close quarters with the man who nearly threw his whole life away to save the one who murdered your parents? To know that the man who choked the life out of your mother and bashed your father’s head in is walking free out there in the world?''

The words don’t hurt, not like Ross hopes they will, because Tony knows and has known for a long time, ever since the turbulent but hopeful aftermath of that day in Germany, and it’s a great moment of satisfaction, short-lived and fleeting but brilliant all the same, as he leans forward and flashes Ross his very best Tony Stark smile. 

''Pretty damn good.''

Somewhere outside, an explosion rocks the air, melding with a blaring of alarms overheard. A frantic yell of _''_ _S ecurity breach! I repeat, we have a security breach in the - ''_ from the speaker cuts off just as the cell door deactivates with a low hum. 

''Don’t let Parker escape!'' Ross yells as the room plunges into darkness, leaving a garish red glow from the emergency lighting as the only means of seeing a damn thing. 

But it’s enough for Tony.

He darts rapidly out of the door and snags Ross by the back of his jacket, tugging him back into the cell and throwing him against the wall. 

‘’Stark - ‘’

Tony’s fist collides so heavily with Ross’ jaw that he feels the skin of his knuckles split open, but it doesn’t stop him from hitting Ross again and again until he sends the man sprawling to the floor. The urge to kill Ross then and there is so overwhelming, so blindingly tempting, that Tony nearly seizes him by the neck and chokes the life out of him. 

But Peter - _he has to get to Peter._

Tony turns on his heel, makes it two steps forward, and then crashes to the ground as a foot snags round his ankle and knocks him down. He quickly twists and aims a kick towards Ross’ bloody face, catching him on the chin, but Ross is crazed rage personified and keeps coming, sending them into a fierce tussle of fists and knees that has Tony casting aside all fighting techniques in favour of just doing all he can to _hurt._

His vision tunnels out and there's bone cracking beneath his fist and his head is spinning but he keeps going, keeps swinging while the alarms continue to blare, ridding Tony of any sense of what the hell is going on outside - 

And then the War Machine suit is right there, opening up to reveal the furious face of Rhodey, a sight that firmly etches itself into Tony’s collection of Favourite Things Ever. 

Ross barely has time to throw his hands up and splutter out a desperate plea before a repulsor is level with his battered face. 

''Get away from him,'' Rhodey snarls. _''Now.''_

''Rhodes,'' Ross gasps through bloody lips as he lurches to his knees, ''use your head here. You’re a military man - ''

''What I am is _done_ with your bullshit,'' Rhodey snaps, then whirls his arm through the air until it strikes Ross sharply upon the side of the head. 

He goes down instantly, slumping in a heap against the wall, motionless and beaten. 

Rhodey snorts in disgust, but the anger immediately eases out of his face as he turns to look at Tony. Tony stares back up at him, relief cooling his blood for just a moment, all the friendship and love he’s held for Rhodey since he was fifteen reaching supernova levels and making him sigh thankfully. 

''What took you so long?'' he quips weakly. ''I built that thing to go faster than any of your fancy planes. What did you do, take the scenic route?''

Rhodey shrugs with a relieved smile. ''You know I like to give this baby the ride she deserves.''

Tony snorts, grimacing a little as Rhodey gently cups his chin. 

''Jesus, man, look at the state of you - ''

''Never mind me,'' Tony groans. ''Peter - they were - ''

''Don’t think about it,'' Rhodey says, helping him to his feet. ''Let’s just grab him so we can all get the hell outta here.''

Distant shouting and rapid gunfire and the distinctive ring of Steve’s shield flying through the air greet Tony’s ears as he sticks his head out of the cell. The room is empty save for a few unconscious guards on the floor. Through the darkness he can see that the door to Peter’s cell is wide open and from somewhere beyond it, Tony hears a voice. 

''Peter? Peter! Can you hear me?''

Pepper.

Pepper’s voice, tight with worry and frightened desperation, calling Peter’s name. 

_Peter._

Tony runs out of the cell, head spinning sickeningly, adrenaline thick and heavy in his veins, coagulating with the fear that’s been pumping through him since Peter vanished from his sight; since the moment he opened the door to Ross’ sneering face. 

He can hear Rhodey clanking after him, and there’s blood trickling down his face from somewhere, and he’s probably in danger of collapsing but he doesn’t care because needs to keep going, needs to get to Peter. 

There’s a low hum and then a burst of brightness, every single light coming on at once. Tony throws his hands up to shield his eyes, still stumbling forward, the fear worsening tenfold as he hears Pepper’s voice once more, louder this time.

''Peter? Peter, it’s Pepper, you need to wake up!''

A metal grip encircles Tony’s waist and yanks him upright as he starts to list sideways, eyes opening to squint unseeingly into the light. 

''Take a deep breath, Tones.''

A scream, the same as the ones Tony had been forced to listen to for what feels like an entire lifetime, bursts through Tony like hot lightning and Rhodey doesn’t try to stop him as he moves, eyes finally adjusting enough so that he can see; can see what is now the shattered stretch of glass that used to be the window of Peter’s cell. 

There’s another shout, weaker this time. Rhodey inches ahead through the door and Tony follows, heart beating out a samba somewhere in his throat now, but suddenly finds himself wrapped in a pair of arms that feel familiar even encased in armour. 

''Pepper,'' he breathes, sagging in her grip, ''honey, what - ''

''I thought we’d be too late,'' she gasps, voice cracking through the mask. ''Happy picked up your message first and I - I couldn’t just sit there and do _nothing,_ Tony.''

Tony gives her a brief once over, taking in the gleam of metallic blue, and realises that she’s dressed in the suit he’d been working on in bits and pieces since New York, the one he hoped she’d never have to wear. 

He thought he’d pictured every scenario in which she’d need to, dreamt of every horrible possibility, but never once did he picture something like this. 

The faceplate flips up to reveal Pepper’s tear-streaked face and he takes one second, one precious second, to brush his fingers against her cheek, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, to love her so completely, before he hurries into the cell. 

''Peter,'' Rhodey is pleading, crouched down on the floor amongst the four now prone men, hands trying to grasp the arms that are flailing weakly in his direction. ''Peter, stop! You’re safe now, we’re here to get you.''

''No,'' Peter’s head jerks from side to side, eyes half-lidded but still clearly brimming with sluggish panic as he tries to sit up. ''Please, stop, please, it h-hurts, stop - ''

Tony quickly barges Rhodey out of the way, hands reaching to frame Peter’s face and holding him steady. 

''Kid, it’s me, it’s Tony,'' he says, forcing himself not to flinch as Peter’s hands slap against his arms, soft sobs accompanying each strike. ''Hey, shh, shh, c’mon, kiddo, it’s me. Look, see?''

Peter shivers violently, his entire body trembling as he struggles to fight. There’s wet redness seeping slowly through the ruined tatters of his hoodie, bruises and cuts covering him like confetti. His hair, wild and unruly, is matted down on one side with a few curls sticking to the sweaty skin of his forehead, and as Tony looks further, he can see the incorrect angle of Peter’s left leg. 

And it’s not fair. Not a damn shred of it.

Peter, kind and brave Peter - _his kid_ \- lying here like this, shattered and terrified, is something Tony knows he’ll never quite recover from, knows that this image will forever be scorched into the dark reaches of his mind along with every other horrible, heartbreaking moment of his life. 

For a frightening second, Tony can’t breathe. 

But then Peter says his name, a wrecked whisper that burrows its way into Tony’s heart like the roots of a tree, somehow the most awful and most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

''It’s okay, buddy,'' Tony soothes hoarsely, rubbing his fingers across the tops of Peter’s cheeks, the only space that seems to be unharmed. ''It’s okay, you’re okay.''

''Gotta,’’ Peter whines through chattering teeth, ‘’g-gotta save M-Mister S-Stark - ''

''I’m here, kid, Mister Stark’s here,'' Tony chokes out, head falling forward helplessly and tears tickling his eyelashes as the guilt, the hurt, the anger, overrides the relief. ''I’m here.''

''We need to go, Tony,'' Rhodey says. ''Come on, let’s get him somewhere safe, yeah?''

He moves to help Peter only to jerk back with a pained grimace as Peter recoils with a garbled cry, trying to twist away. 

''Pete, it’s okay,'' Tony promises weakly. ''I swear, you’re okay, you hear me? You’re okay, kid.''

He continues to mutter the same words over and over again as his body starts to give in to the turmoil, remaining strength sputtering out into something exhausting that drags heavily at his senses. He feels Rhodey’s arms curl around him, protective and safe, and ease him into an embrace while another hand, tender and loving, pushes sweetly through his hair, and as the darkness finally takes hold, he feels the weak touch of Peter’s fingers finally fitting with his own. 

* * *

''Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.''

''Mmm...f’ve more minu’es.''

A hand brushes gently into Peter’s curls and he sighs, feeling so warm and comfortable that it seems like even an attempt to open his eyes will be an impossible task. 

''Guess he doesn’t want pizza then,'' somebody teases. 

Peter’s eyes snap open to the sound of Tony’s laughter, a warm and rich sound, one that Peter remembers fearing he would never hear again. He turns his head and Tony’s right there, grinning widely, eyes shining bright. 

''Nice to see you, kiddo.''

Images of Tony’s face, snarling and furious, blood-streaked and terrified, flash behind Peter’s eyes and he sits upright in a panic, taking the barest notice of the IV in his hand, the thick weight around his left leg or the soreness coating his skin as he meets Tony’s gaze. 

''Mister Stark! What happened? How did we - ''

''Whoa whoa, cool your jets there, kid,'' Tony stands from his chair and braces a hand somewhat delicately against Peter’s shoulder. ''Take a breath.''

Peter does, a deep and steady inhale, and catches the scent of pineapple pizza coming from the doorway. He glances over and there’s Happy, holding a pizza box and grinning broadly, along with Rhodey and Steve and, to Peter’s great surprise, a very well looking Bucky Barnes. 

''Where’s - ''

''Over here, tough guy.''

Peter’s head whips round to see May, tearful and smiling, standing to the right of the bed he’s stretched out on, and the sight of her makes something crack in his chest. 

She goes to him immediately, arms wrapping around him in the best kind of hug, and he buries his face into her shoulder, trembling as he breathes in her perfume. 

Everything’s trickling back to him now, and he remembers thinking that he was never going to see her again; right when the butt of a gun collided with his already aching face and a knife was pushed into his shoulder, he thought he was never going to see May again and that he would die far away from her, their last words to each other something everyday and forgettable. 

''I love you,'' he whispers into her sweater, ''I love you.''

''Oh, baby, I love you too,'' she replies, tenderly kissing his hair and tightening her hold. It hurts a little, but he doesn’t mind at all. 

Tony’s hand, having moved away for a moment, rests against Peter’s back and gives it a soft pat. Peter lifts his head and without thinking, lets go of May and hooks his arms around Tony in a tight squeeze. He chokes back another sob as Tony instantly returns it, holding Peter with a fierce kind of tenderness, soft but strong, and he feels a shaky exhale rush into his hair. 

''Mister Stark,'' he manages to say but that’s all, words failing him as he leans into Tony’s chest. 

''I know, kid,'' Tony murmurs, cupping the back of his head. ''I know.''

They linger in the embrace for another minute or so, and then someone sniffing loudly has them both turning their heads to look over at where Happy is doing an awful job of hiding his emotions. 

''Jeez, man,'' Rhodey chuckles, grabbing the pizza and walking over to the bed, ''you really are getting soft with age.''

''It's allergies, alright?'' Happy grumbles, dashing a finger under his eyes. 

''You might need to take it slow,'' Rhodey says to Peter as he opens up the pizza box and puts it on the end of the bed, ''but we figured this would be a sure fire way of waking you up.''

''Like coffee works for Tony,'' Steve grins, earning a narrow eyed stare. 

''Watch it,'' Bucky laughs, elbowing Steve in the side, ''he knows where you live.''

''See, Buckaroo gets it,'' Tony says cheerfully. 

Still tucked in Tony’s arms, Peter listens to the playful chatter, unable to wrap his mind around much of it at all. It feels like only minutes ago that he was fighting for his life and now he’s here, safe and warm with pizza being offered to him, like it’s all been nothing but a bad dream. 

It’s suddenly too much and he hides his face against Tony’s shoulder, a childish move that he inwardly berates himself for, but he can’t will himself to do anything else. 

''Why don’t I go and grab us some plates?'' May says suddenly. 

''O-oh, yeah,'' Rhodey agrees after an awkward pause. ''We’ll give you a hand, won’t we, Happy?''

''Wha - oh! Yeah, no problem.''

''Drinks! We need drinks,'' Steve chimes in loudly.

''Oh, that was smooth,'' Bucky says. ''How you ever made so many damn movies with those acting skills I’ll never know.''

''Look, wise guy…''

Peter listens to them leave, feels the air within the room settle, and lets his shoulders relax.

''You can come out now.''

The soft, teasing tone beats away some of the shadow of shame, allowing Peter to smile. ''Don’t wanna. S’nice.''

''What do I look like to you, huh? Your personal pillow? A lifesize Tony Stark teddy bear?''

''Do your accessories come separately?''

''I’ve missed your sass, kiddo,'' Tony sighs, giving Peter a squeeze. He slowly pulls away but doesn’t stray far, perching on the side of the bed and propping his feet up on the abandoned chair. ''You wanna eat?''

Peter glances at the pizza thoughtfully. ‘’Maybe in a bit.’’

Tony dutifully moves the box aside and then sticks a glass of water with a straw under Peter’s nose. Peter takes it and sucks greedily, nearly draining the whole glass before Tony whisks it away. 

''I bet we’ve got a little while until the others manage to sort out all those plates and drinks,'' Tony says with a smirk, ''so how about - ''

''I’m sorry, Mister Stark.''

Tony leans back a little, gaze narrow and the beginnings of a frown forming between his eyebrows. ''What do you have to be sorry for?'' he asks. 

''I…'' Peter tries, words sticking to his tongue. 

Where does he even start? 

He remembers trying to escape, nearly upending the car he and Tony were travelling in with the force of his movements, breaking bones beneath his fists and almost making it out - _almost getting them both out -_ and then there had been a helicopter, Tony’s unconscious form lax and bleeding in front of him, and a needle jabbing Peter in the neck and turning the world kaleidoscopic. 

He remembers everything becoming a confusing tangle of noise and lights that left him helpless and weak, unable to do anything as Tony was taken away and he was barricaded in a room where men came at him in waves, bouncing him back and forth between being able to somehow fight back and cowering defencelessly on the ground as blow after blow rained down on him. 

''Pete?''

He remembers being pinned down, more needles, white hot pain dragging over what felt like every part of his body, cutting right through to his bones.

And the threats. The taunting, terrible threats of what they were going to do to the other Avengers, to Tony, to _May,_ had left him weak and trapped, unable to do anything but take it - take all of it until he could do nothing but weep and scream. 

''C'mon, you need to relax - ''

Then Ross kneeling over him, gripping his face viciously tight and gleefully revealing the details of his plan, how he wanted Tony to suffer throughout all of it, and how Peter was the best way to make that happen. 

And Tony himself, pale-faced and angry and _hurt_ -

''Kid,'' Tony moves a hand to tilt Peter’s chin up, leaving them eye to eye. ''You need to take it easy.''

''It was my fault,'' Peter rasps, fisting his hands into Tony’s shirtsleeves, hot tears blurring his vision. ''My - if I hadn’t grabbed that guy back at the apartment then I - then you…'' he grits his teeth, forcing the words out, ''you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.''

Tony remains silent for a moment and just looks at him, face unreadable. Peter withers a little under his gaze and tries to turn his head away, but Tony’s fingers push against his chin gently but insistently, keeping him in place. 

''No,'' Tony finally says. ''This is not on you, Pete. None of it. What happened would have happened in some way or another. Ross lost his shit, kid, and there’s no one else responsible for that apart from him. He’s sitting in a maximum security prison as we speak, for life if Pepper has anything to do with it. You don’t need to worry about him anymore.''

''But you got hurt,'' Peter argues, gesturing to the livid bruising on Tony’s face and the stiffness of his posture that he’s clearly trying to hide. ''They - Ross said he was going to make you suffer - that he was gonna use _me_ to make you suffer. M-maybe if you’d been at the tower, not with me - ''

''I’m gonna stop you right there, bud,’’ Tony interrupts. ''He did come to the tower. Remember? Right after Norway. You ate an inhuman amount of food and Clint nearly choked on a chopstick?''

''Yeah, yeah I remember.''

''This didn’t happen because of you. You aren’t responsible. I am.''

Peter jerks back, more tears escaping his eyes as he blinks in confusion. ''Huh? No, Mister Stark, that’s not true.''

''I should have protected you.''

''You _did,''_ Peter says fiercely. ''You did, you always do.''

''Not well enough,'' Tony sniffs, looking away. 

There’s such regret etched on his face, his body marked all over with shadows of fatigue, ageing him and painting him an unusual shade of vulnerable; one that speaks volumes of the strength and kindness that make up so much of who Tony is despite all that’s been said and done. 

And Peter loves him - loves him so much that it makes him ache. 

They could go on forever, Peter realises, stuck in a ridiculous spiral of trying to steal the blame from each other; a pointless fight that will only bring a hollow kind of victory should one of them ever win. 

Which they won’t. They never do. 

So instead of trying to take it back, Peter tugs on one of Tony’s sleeves, pulling Tony’s gaze back to his, and mutters a tearful but so very heartfelt, ''thank you.''

Surprise clouds Tony’s features. ''For what, kid?''

''Everything. All of it,'' Peter says, throat starting to burn. ''You - you never had to get involved like you have. Sometimes I still pinch myself ‘cause things don’t last forever, not for me and…'' he breathes deep, a rough laugh escaping him, ''and I’m grateful for all that you’ve given me. N-not just the suits but the time. I don’t have much luck with time so…'' he trails off, finishing on a shrug and a whispered, ''it’s really nice to have you in my corner.''

''Course it is,'' Tony says gruffly. ''I’m Iron Man.''

''Not him,'' Peter shakes his head. ''You. Tony Stark.''

Tony sniffs, upper lip twitching with it. Peter tenses, waiting for a dismissal, one that he would instantly forgive Tony for because this is as heavy as it gets, as it’s ever been.

Part of Peter wants to bury himself beneath the bed covers and hide but he holds steady, using his grip on Tony’s sleeves as an anchor, increasing it even more as Tony finally opens his mouth to speak. 

''Pete, there isn’t anything - '' Tony pauses, face crinkling with emotion, like it’s threatening to burst out of him. ''You think I would invite you to hang out at the tower, pick you up from school, listen to your ramblings about Star Wars and your pal Ted or that furball who probably sheds all over the sandwich fixings at that place you love if I weren't in this for the long haul?''

Peter blinks, feeling a little stunned. He’s not so naive and self-deprecating to believe that Tony doesn’t care, because of course he does, but it’s an unspoken kind of care, one that tends to manifest itself in the things that Tony does instead of the things that he says. Peter’s used to it, totally content with the hair ruffle and a ''nice job, kid,'' that is typical of their dynamic, but to hear Tony voice it out loud, put a verbal stamp on it all is something that Peter suddenly wants - _needs_ \- to hear. 

''I’m an asshole, Pete, always have been but - ''

''You’re _not - ''_

 _''B_ _ut,''_ Tony goes on, ''I like to think that I’m less of an asshole than I was before. I’m willing to take a smidgen or two of credit for that, but it’s down to a few select people that I’m not as much of a disaster as I could have been.'' He brushes a thumb against the knuckles of one of Peter’s hands. ''You’re one of those people, kid.''

Peter smiles, really smiles, everything painful slipping out of him with a quiet sob as Tony leans close, lifting a hand to cup the back of Peter’s neck with a touch that can only be described as loving. 

''There’s nothing, not a damn thing that would stop me from fighting with you - fighting for you. _Ever.''_

And that last word, the reverent inflection that lifts it an octave or two higher than the rest, is as loud as any declaration of love that Peter’s heard before. 

It won’t be the last time a force moulded out of venomous hatred and seething rage tries to do them harm; won’t be the last time that one of them sits by a hospital bed while the other lies unconscious and broken, and it definitely won’t be the last time that they argue and tussle over the responsibility of it all. 

They’re superheroes, after all. It’s all part of what they do. 

But with Tony in his corner, by his side, willing to fight with him - _for him_ \- until the very end, Peter knows without a doubt that he’s on the winning team. 

''On second thoughts, I might have to cast you aside for someone who isn’t a _heathen._ Pineapple on pizza? You’re something else, kid.''

''Mister _Staaark_ \- ''

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Come and hang out on [tumblr!](https://frostysunflowers.tumblr.com/)


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